After I came down, I think she did not quite know what to do with me; or she might think that I was dull; or she might have work to do in which I hindered her; for she called Phillis, and bade her put on her bonnet, and go with me to the Ashfield, and find father. So we set off, I in a little flutter of a desire to make myself agreeable, but wishing that my companion were not quite so tall; for she was above me in height. While I was wondering how to begin our conversation, she took up the words. “I suppose, cousin Paul, you have to be very busy at your work all day long in general.” “Yes, we have to be in the office at half-past eight; and we have an hour for dinner, and then we go at it again till eight or nine.” “Then you have not much time for reading.” “No,” said I, with a sudden consciousness that I did not make the most of what leisure I had. “No more have I. Father always gets an hour before going a-field in the mornings, but mother does not like me to get up so early.” “My mother is always wanting me to get up earlier when I am at home.” “What time do you get up?” “Oh!—ah!—sometimes half-past six: not often though;” for I remembered only twice that I had done so during the past summer. She turned her head and looked at me. “Father is up at three; and so was mother till she was ill. I should like to be up at four.” “Your father up at three! Why, what has he to do at that hour?” “What has he not to do? He has his private exercise in his own room; he always rings the great bell which calls the men to milking; he rouses up Betty, our maid; as often as not he gives the horses their feed before the man is up—for Jem, who takes care of the horses, is an old man; and father is always loth to disturb him; he looks at the calves, and the shoulders, heels, traces, chaff, and corn before the horses go a-field; he has often to whip-cord the plough-whips; he sees the hogs fed; he looks into the swill-tubs, and writes his orders for what is wanted for food for man and beast; yes, and for fuel, too. And then, if he has a bit of time to spare, he comes in and reads with me—but only English; we keep Latin for the evenings, that we may have time to enjoy it; and then he calls in the men to breakfast, and cuts the boys’ bread and cheese; and sees their wooden bottles filled, and sends them off to their work;—and by this time it is half-past six, and we have our breakfast. There is father,” she exclaimed, pointing out to me a man in his shirt-sleeves, taller by the head than the other two with whom he was working. We only saw him through the leaves of the ash-trees growing in the hedge, and I thought I must be confusing the figures, or mistaken: that man still looked like a very powerful labourer, and had none of the precise demureness of appearance which I had always imagined was the characteristic of a minister. It was the Reverend Ebenezer Holman, however. He gave us a nod as we entered the